His own parents refused to fund the legal battle he started threatening the following day.
Once the documents were sitting on the table, Mark could no longer control the story.
Within days, relatives knew.
Then neighbors.
Then longtime friends.
People who had always praised Mark for being dependable stopped answering his calls.
He hated that most.
Not losing control.
Being seen.
But the most complicated part wasn’t Mark.
It was Beth.
She had raised Stefan for eight years.
She knew which foods he hated.
She knew what scared him.
She knew what made him laugh.
She knew how he liked his sandwiches cut and which stuffed animal he reached for when he was sick.
I had carried him.
I had given birth to him.
And I had spent eight years mourning him.
Both things were true.
One truth didn’t erase the other.
Eventually, Beth and I sat down alone.
